Cliches
by Strange Brew
Summary: Short, slightly embarrassed piece of smut'n'nonsense. Angua and Sally discuss cliches. There's some tension in the air... Set in the same timeframe as the conclusion to my piece of fluff'n'nonsense, 'Having a Ball'.


Note: Pure (but slightly embarrassed) smut, I'm afraid. Set in the same leg of the trousers as time as my piece of fluff'n'nonsense, 'Having a Ball', where Captain Carrot conveniently doesn't exist. Written as a response to a suggestion in the reviews to that story that I run with the idea that there was something... else... behind the animosity between Angua and Sally.

Vampires, werewolves, mud, sexual suggestiveness, lesbians... don't like, don't read.

Another note: the characters are not mine, and never will be.

* * *

The sexual tension between the two of them had really been quite _obscene_, Angua decided. Sal's fellow black-ribboner, Maladicta, and her wiry, tense, boyish companion, Sergeant Perks, had been simply _gagging_ for it, she thought sourly. They'd kept sliding each other longing glances when they thought the other wasn't looking, and they'd been sitting far too close together. Perks' arm, slim in the scarlet sleeve of her uniform jacket, had been shaking every time she'd reached to lift her cocktail glass, and Maladicta's fingers had been trembling so much that she'd had trouble holding her long, elegant cigarette. She'd even dropped it at one point, and Angua had had to hide her derisive snort with a cough, but Perks had just reached over, picked it up, and given it back to the vampire with a smile that had made Angua want to bite someone's throat out.

_But score one for the living_, Angua thought. _Hah. Sometimes vampires _think_ they look cool, and everyone _expects _them to look cool, but even vampires can be let down by an unsteady hand…_

The two of them had left now, which was a relief for all present. The pheromones had made Angua feel quite sick, and even Cheery had leaned over and asked her in a whisper whether it was just her, or did the two newcomers have a big glowing sign above their heads that said 'sex, sex, sex' in vast, troll-block letters?

"So tell me. What is it, then," asked Angua, nastily, as Sal sat beside her now, toying with a paper cocktail umbrella, "about vampires and blondes?"

"Polly isn't really a blonde," said Sally, absently. "More of a mouse, I should say."

"_I'm_ a blonde," said Angua, "and _you're _a vampire."

"Your point?"

_What is my point?_ _Ugh._

Memories pushed hard at Angua's mind. Mud… dark… Naked limbs slipping and pushing together… Rage and desire all at once… Hands and arms strong enough to pin a werewolf down… Pressing… resisting… yielding… A hand slipped, teasing, between her thighs as they fought… a breast cupped briefly in her own hand… The briefest lick and bite of a nipple, as they reached a stalemate and rolled away… wetness from the mud and rain, wetness from… _Stop!_

_Just… stop._

Angua crushed the memories back where they belonged, back in the filthiest recesses of her mind. She hadn't spoken more than two words to Sal since that… encounter… in the vaults beneath Empirical Crescent a week ago.

"Those two," she said, changing tack. "Perks and Maladicta. They were just so… _clichéd_!"

Sal finally looked up from her cocktail umbrella, now reduced to its component parts in a pool of sticky alcohol. Cheery and Tawneee were talking about leatherwear, from rather differing points of perspective.

Sal grinned at her, dangerously, showing a lot of tooth.

"Sorry, Angua," she said, "let me get this straight. You've just accused Polly and Mal of being _clichéd_? _You _have accused _them_ of being clichéd? Wow."

Angua scowled.

"You, who, no more than two weeks ago, was having a naked lesbian mud-wrestle with a vampire in an underground vault?"

Sal gave Angua an utterly and irresistibly filthy look over the rim of the glass as she sipped her wine demurely and continued: "You, who, in less than half an hour's time, is going to go back to the Watch House with that self-same vampire and indulge in a good few hours of I should think probably quite _vicious_ but stunningly _arousing _BDSM sex, probably while Corporal Nobbs watches through the knot-hole in the door for three of the most fulfilling seconds of his life before passing out and waking up three days later and assuming it must all have been a dream… _You_ have just accused a perfectly innocent young couple of being clichéd? Well. Wow again, Angua. And well done!"

Angua, with great difficulty, silenced the howling, slathering, panting wolf. _Later_. _Soon._

Also with great difficulty, she crossed and re-crossed her legs. _It can't be normal to be this wet, surely?_

"BDSM?" she said, calmly. "Really?"

"Need you ask?"

"Evidently not."

Sal grinned.

_Right then, vampire. Want to play it hard? We'll play it hard…_

Angua shifted her shoulders, just a little, and felt her breasts strain a little against her shirt front. Only she could have heard the tiny intake of breath from the vampire beside her.

_Just you wait, pal._

Silently, she took Sal's hand and guided it, slowly, up her skirt, along the inside of her thigh. The side of Sal's finger, instantly coated in slick wetness, slid slowly, almost imperceptibly, up and down. Pausing in one place, the finger pressed, then pulsed, very slightly.

Angua bit her lip to stop the gasp.

"I can hear your heartbeat, you know," said the vampire, casually shifting so that a second finger could join the first.

_Fuck… _"So?"

"So it's no use trying not to gasp. I know what I'm doing."

Angua held the vampire's smiling eyes for a second, and then, deliberately, let her canine gently pierce the skin of her lip. A bead of blood gleamed dark crimson in the half-light. Sal's finger shook.

"Oh yeah?" said Angua? "So do I."

"Gods…" said Sal, grinning. "You little bitc…"

"I wouldn't call me that if I were you."

"Or what? You'll… punish… me?"

"Something like that."

"I can't wait."

_Neither can I. Bugger. I'm meant to be calling the shots here…_

Sal's fingers pinched together, very gently. This time, even Cheery and Tawneee heard the gasp.

"Watch House?" said Sal softly, smiling innocently at them across the table.

"Bring it on," Angua murmured in reply.

* * *

"Rules of engagement?" murmured Sal, as the last item of clothing was ripped off and they stood, naked and panting, in the Watch House's deserted office.

"Just one."

Hearts beat fast and shallow.

"Well?"

Breast pressed to breast, stomach to stomach, thigh to thigh.

"No dog-collars."

Hands moved swiftly over cool smooth skin.

"Deal. Now kiss me."

Angua did.

Outside, Corporal Nobby Nobbs knew, in the final seconds before he hit the floor, that he could die a happy man.


End file.
